Teddy Bear, teddy bear
by DarkHeartsUnleashed
Summary: Booth is unpacking some boxes that have been in storage for awhile and finds Hank, his old teddy bear. It brings up some painful memories of both his childhood and recent years. Slight spoilers for ep 6x01 BB, One-Shot


You remember when you were little, when you had a favorite toy, a teddy bear. The bear, Hank for the sake of this story, came everywhere with you. Daycare, doctors appointments, all around your house, and slept with you every night.

He lost eyes, tore seams, got attacked by an exploding marker, but none of it mattered. Hank was still your favorite stuffed animal. Mom always complained about fixing Hank and offered to buy you a new teddy on multiple occasions. You always said no. Hank was Hank, no matter how worn and old he got.

One Christmas, you opened a fairly large box with a card reading 'From Santa.' Inside, was a bright red fire truck. Hank was forgotten. The truck became your new best friend. It went everywhere with you. To the doctors, around your house, and to school. A fire truck was cooler than a teddy bear. No one brought a teddy bear to school. You'd brought Hank the first day, but he stayed in your bag.

The fire truck soon lost all interest. One day you found Hank again. Your mother was planning to give him to your baby brother when he came. You said no. Hank was your bear. You couldn't find him. Your mother replied he'd been in your room all along.

Huh, you never noticed him.

Hank becomes your best friend. He goes with you for your first half-week of sleepover camp one summer. He stays in the cabin. A few other people brought stuffed animals too, so you don't feel so silly about it.

As you get older, you get more favorite toys. Hank fades in an out of popularity until one day, you put him away. A few years later, he gets boxed up and put in your parent's attic. College students don't have stuffed bears.

Years later, you're older and moving into your own house, finally abandoning a life of apartments and landlords. Boxes of your stuff has remained closed and in storage due to your time in the army. Your daughter helps you unpack. She makes you happy, but you can't help but feel something is missing from your life.

_What's this_ your daughter asks. You turn and see her holding Hank.

_It's Hank you say. He was my bear when I was little,_ you explain. Seeing Hank for the first time in years brings back many memories.

When she asks_ why you kept him_, your only reply is to remind you.

_Remind you of what?_

_The past._

_Why?_

Because to forget is to forget what really matters now. What mattered then, matters now. Why must she ask so many questions? Because she's curious, curious about your past as many children are regarding the lives of their parents.

You rarely talk about your past. You have a son in college. You have a few friends in DC. You use to be a FBI agent. Some things happened, you rejoined the army for a period of time. When you returned to the FBI, things were different. You didn't know why. That was a lie. You knew why things were different, but it was too painful to tell. You left and took up a full the army on a base near DC.

You met someone on base. She was a technician. She could tell you every part of a plane, fighter, or helicopter worked. She couldn't name the bones in the human body. Things never went anywhere.

_He's a part of my childhood. I don't have many things left from that point in my life._ You reply after the time you spent recounting your past in your own mind.

_Ok,_ she turns and leaves, no doubt going to start dinner. What a wonderful daughter.

You look at Hank and smile fondly. There were times you forgot about Hank, but he was always on your bed, in your backpack, on your dresser, desk, or in your car trunk. He was always nearby, he never left.

A neat, study stitch from your mother's last sewing job on him runs down his chest. You remember how he ripped. Your brother had come into your room. You were back from college for a visit. He wanted Hank. Hank was yours. You fought, he ripped. It took you awhile to forgive him. He had his own bear. The only problem was it wasn't yours.

You wonder why you didn't think of Hank when your son was born or when your daughter was. It's too late to change that now, but one day it will make a gift for your first grandchild. It isn't that you don't love your wife, but you're getting on and years and honestly... you aren't _in_ love with your wife.

You can't help but compare parts of your life to your childhood with Hank. You use to have a best friend. Now, you're lucky if your old friends will talk to you. You had a wonderful friendship. You screwed it up. You had a chance to be with your soul mate, your one and only. You gave it up. She wasn't ready. You were.

And so you left. You gave up. You were stupid. No, you were a complete and total idiot. But it was too late. She was gone. You let her die. You were too preoccupied with your own life. You and her drifted apart. You missed her. She missed you, more than you knew.

You didn't know when she died. Angela blamed you. She yelled at you. She told you the truth of things when no one else would.

You broke her. You broke her best friend. Your time in the army had given her the time she needed. She was ready, but you had given up. You came back with someone else. You came back with a new toy and left your favorite all alone.

And so your best friend drew away from the world. She was hurt, she was broken, and this time you weren't there to put the pieces back together. So instead, she fell apart and stayed that way.

The rift grew larger. You spent less and less time with her. Her rips, her tears, her worn out seams remained as such.

And then she died... shot by a suspect you released. Shot in her own apartment.

You weren't there. Angela called you from the hospital. Your best friend was dead. Her baby was not.

Baby? She had been pregnant? How could you not know? She was only 30 weeks according to the doctors, only just starting to show. But still, you should have seen it. You should have known.

And so you held the cold hand of your dead friend, your dead soul mate. You told her softly you were sorry; sorry for everything. It didn't matter now, but you had to say it. Sorry for not waiting, sorry for not being there, sorry for being a jerk, sorry for being a horrible best friend, and sorry... sorry for letting her baby grow up without a mother.

And so after little Joy Temperance Brennan was cleared to go home, you took her (your) daughter home. She left you everything. The little baby she had used your genetics to make would be well cared for.

You stayed near DC. You couldn't take her away from her godparents, her grandfather, her uncle, aunt, and cousins. It hurt to see them, but you couldn't take your little girl away from he mother's family. She deserved to know who her mother was, what she'd done, and the life she lived. You wanted your little girl to be surrounded by people who loved her. So, when she was 5, you left your job in the army, and moved back to DC.

It was painful, but you rejoined the FBI. You took a desk job. Your precious daughter would always have at least one parent. Despite not having been an agent for a few years, a year later you were promoted. Unlike in the past where you'd turned down promotions, you took this one. You were Assistant Director of the homicide division. You re-established a liaison agent with the Jeffersonian. They were partnered with Dr. Zach Addy.

You honestly hadn't known he had been cleared of all charges until you called to see what anthropologists were available and willing. You wouldn't force anybody.

And so you lived your life. There were a few scattered dates here and there, but your heart wasn't open. They were too tall, too curvy, not ambitious enough, to kind, irrational, had the wrong color hair, wrong color eyes... Your heart still and always would belong to your best friend.

And so you sit in your new house, a house that will be empty in a few years when Joy goes off to college. Parker will come back when he finishes his masters. He's a squint. Your son turned into a squint. That little boy with an interest in anything and everything chose forensic anthropology with a minor (masters) in computer technologies. It was an odd combination, but he would be a valuable asset to the Jeffersonian, who has already offered him an internship next year.

You're so proud of him. You wish she was here to see him. She was like a second mother to him.

But she's not here, and you are. Hank survived in a box for many years, forgotten.

There's a difference between Hank and Bones. Hank's still here. Bones is gone. You have forgotten Hank at points in life. You will never forget Bones. Hank is a stuffed animal. Temperance Brennan was the love of your life.

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**-DHUnleashed**


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